I Wanna Kiss You All Over
by RicardianScholar Clark-Weasley
Summary: It's the morning after and George struggles to remember exactly what did he do the night before. All he does know is that he is NEVER going to a 1970s karaoke bar with Emma, Frank, Jane, Elton, Augusta, Harriet, and Robbie ever again.


**Author's Note: Warnings – drunken behaviour, sexual themes, and my usual very high T ratings that border on to M. Hope you enjoy. **

The sun was shining at full force and on any other day it would be welcomed, but on the fifteenth of February, after a very long night of drinking, it was most certainly not welcome. George Knightly groaned, when he barely opened his eyes only to be almost blinded by the bright light, he rolled over with the intention of falling back to sleep. His head was pounding, his throat dry, and he couldn't for the life of himself remember what the hell he did the night before.

Then he caught sight of blonde hair and his eyes flew open.

There was a woman sleeping beside him...he was naked...there was a _**woman**_ sleeping beside him...and he was _**naked**_..._**oh dear god**_! How much did he drink last night? Evidentially far too much.

_Please don't let it be Augusta_, he thought pleadingly, _dear god please don't let it be Augusta if there is any mercy in this world._

If it was Augusta and Elton punches his face in later on today then George can blame Emma. It was totally Emma's fault. She was the one that suggested that they should all spend Valentine's Day together. Augusta and Elton were the only couple in their group while the rest of them were languishing in world of being single (though much to George's distress it appears Emma and Frank would soon be leaving that world together) and were originally uninvited but Augusta insisted on spending it with her 'friends'. That led to part of the heavy drinking, he and Emma foolishly decided to play a game (completely Emma's suggestion and therefore still her fault) of three simple rules;

Drink whenever Augusta boasts about her wealth, beauty, connections, etc.

Drink whenever Augusta insults someone.

Drink whenever Augusta and Elton act sickeningly sweet to one another.

They were on the verge of tipsiness before the evening really had started and the last real memory George vaguely had was Robbie Martin arriving unexpectedly with Harriet, and then everything is complete darkness until now where he was still staring at the blonde hair in sheer horror.

_I am begging you, please don't let it be Augusta_, George screamed silently in his head, _or I will kill myself and give you hell. Why, God, __**why?**_

The blonde moaned and George stiffened. Here it was, the moment of truth, either it was going to be Augusta and he'll attempt leaping out of his window, or it was going to be some stranger and he'll cheerfully deal with the awkwardness.

The blonde rolled over and smiled up at him.

It was a beautiful, earth shattering smile that he had been accustomed to for years.

It was neither Augusta nor a stranger.

It was Emma.

_Jesus Christ! How much did he have to drink?!_

Before he could formulate a coherent sentence or blink or do something to get him out of this situation that he wasn't entirely sure he was in – surely this had to be a dream? – Emma leaned up and kissed him softly.

What the _fuck_ happened last night?

EWEWEWEWEWEWEW

It was Frank Churchill's fault.

Always was his fault these days. His fault that George was miserable, his fault that Emma was acting like a giddy flirty fool whenever he was around, his fault that George was likely to be alone forever (okay that might have been a bit melodramatic but he can honestly say he wasn't sure if he could love someone like he loves Emma), and definitely his fault that they ended up in a cheesy 1970s karaoke bar.

And it was Frank's fault that George sang that bloody song but more on that later.

Augusta and Elton spent the evening sulking and moaning about the music though Emma did tell them (as nicely as possible) that they could leave if they wanted to. Harriet, Robbie, Jane, and George were completely coerced by Emma and Frank to fill out several slips of paper to sing later on. in fact they were the only group of people who sang that night much to Elton and Augusta's embarrassment...well them and that one, lonely, single guy who seemed to be on his own.

So after Frank regaled them with a John Lennon number, the girls sang Dancing Queen (well Emma sang, Harriet tried to, and Jane just sort of hid her face behind her hand and mumbled the words), and Robbie wowed the audience with a David Bowie song, Frank and Emma ended up back on the stage together doing another Abba number together.

And not the proper Abba version either, the flirty duet version from the musical, which George only knows about because Emma had made him watch the movie _**five times**_ now.

It killed George to see Emma lean in, hand on Frank's shoulder, the biggest smile on her face, as she sang the words, "I'm alone with you, It's magic, You want me to leave it there, Afraid of a love affair, But I think you know, That I can't let go…" it quite frankly made George feel like he had been punched in the gut – _repeatedly_, with a _metal_ boxer glove.

In all fairness he wasn't the only one that felt that way. Jane Fairfax was suddenly very pale as her hand clutched her drink tightly, and her lips pressed themselves into a thin line of displeasure. It was about then he had an inkling that something might be going on between Frank and Jane.

But to be honest it was when Frank leaped off the stage afterwards, pulled Jane into his arms, and declared, "You know you're the only one for me," before plunking his _disgusting, slimy, lips_ onto hers, that cemented it all for George.

EWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEW

"You really don't remember it all?"

Emma was now seated on his kitchen stool, wearing his t-shirt, and eating the last of his cereal, as he stood there with a coffee in hand trying to remember anything beyond Augusta's sneering face (trust him, he desperately wished he could remember beyond _that_).

"No," George repeated exasperated, he had to repeat himself about the tenth time now, but in all fairness Emma did get the shock of her life when he had jumped back and…well…basically screamed like a girl and babbled like an idiot. "I honestly do not remember it, and trust me, I would have treasured the memory of punching Frank."

Emma rolled her eyes at that. "For the last time," she snapped as she waved her spoon at him (splattering his face with milk), "I was never interested in Frank like _that_. He's just a mate, a really good one at that."

"I find it hard to believe," George said a little too coldly, "when you were all over him like a bad rash."

Instead of being angry, which she was totally entitled to after a comment like that, Emma just smiled mischievously, and dropped her spoon into the bowel (splashing milk all over his nice shiny counters, honestly he should be used to this seeing as she used to _always_ make a mess of his room when they were kids), before she stood up. He had sort of stiffened, as he suspected she was going to slap him for that comment (again she was entitled to), and he flinched a little when she suddenly draped her arms over his shoulders, weaved her legs between his, and pressed her body flush against his.

"I'd rather be all over you like a bad rash," she purred. He gulped and was ashamed to admit his blood rushed to a different part of his body when it really shouldn't have. She smirked up at him, kissed him lightly again, and pulled away. _The tease_. "But I do have a story to finish." She sat down and purposely crossed her legs before him like the little vixen she is, before she continued, "After I pulled you off Frank, and we reassured the bouncer you weren't a violent nutter and can be trusted to stay without causing any more trouble, Jane explained to us about their secret relationship."

"Why was it secret?" George asked.

"Eh," Emma shrugged, "something about Frank's oppressive aunt being a control freak and snob. She wanted Frank to date someone like Augusta," they both shuddered at that and George grudgingly felt sympathy for Frank Churchill almost ending up shackled to someone like _Augusta._ "Anyway, whatever control she had over his finances is over now, something about Frank convincing his uncle to sign them over to him, and he can now openly date her without his means to provide for her being taken away. It's all very nineteenth century."

"Says the girl that likes to play matchmaker."

"Hey!" Emma protested. "I have you know that matchmaking is a _modern_ thing! There are plenty of people who make a business of it, and computer generators, and websites, and-"

"Okay, okay," George laughed, "I get it. Matchmaking isn't the medieval concept I believe it to be. But none of this explains how you…well ended up _in my bed_!" Yes, he did say that last bit really fast, and a little high pitched, and yes he was blushing, and yes Emma laughed at him.

"Well after a bit of sulking and glaring," Emma snorted at the memory, "you decided to sing yourself."

"_Oh God_!" George moaned.

"You picked a lovely song by Exile."

"_Who?_!"

"I suspected you had no idea who they were," Emma smirked, "and that I'm certain you picked the song because of its title."

"Oh God, what _was the song_?!"

EWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEW

When his name was finally called he was even more drunk than he had been when he punched Frank _freaking_ Churchill (and no, just because he had a somewhat reasonable explanation and Emma had forgiven him, he had not forgiven the little git) and had, of course, staggered the entire time he walked up to the stage, and struggled terribly to stand still to accept the microphone.

"Before I sing," he slurred, dear God he was so going to regret this in the morning, "I just want to say a few words. Emma, I…I really don't know how to put this in words, but I hope that this song will tell you for me."

The music started, it was a fairly long opening and he almost missed his cue to sing, and when he did sing it was probably cringe-worthy since he couldn't hold a tune when he is sober let alone drunk out of his mind. "When I get home, babe, gonna light your fire. All day I've been thinking about you, babe, you're my one desire." Judging by some of the people's cringes and the barman's amusement he really wasn't singing in tune at all. "gonna wrap my arms around you, hold you close to me, oh babe I wanna taste your lips, I wanna fill your fantasy."

"_Oh dear God_!" Augusta squawked. "This is embarrassing."

The only person who verbally agreed with her was her boyfriend though George, in his right mind, would have agreed with her if he hadn't been the one singing. Just not so vocally, or even verbally. Instead he took another breath and carried on singing. "I don't know what I'd do without you, babe, don't know where I'd be, you're not just another lover, No, you're everything to me-"

At this point he tripped over the wire from his microphone and pretty much landed flat on his face. He struggled to get up when he caught Elton and Augusta sinking into their seats in embarrassment, Harriet covered her face, Robbie grimaced on his behalf, and Jane and Frank were too busy kissing one another to pay him any attention. As he struggled to his feet, he desperately sought Emma out but couldn't find her at all. Did he scare her away with his terrible singing? He wouldn't blame her if she had ran off because…Oh…he turned to the screen to realise that he missed a verse and a half of the song.

"…You don't have to say a thing, just let me show how much," He really didn't want to sing anymore. Not now that Emma was gone, what was the point? But then, he felt a warm hand on his arm, and he turned to see Emma smiling, half amused, a tiny bit mortified, and rather pleased with herself at the time. His voice caught itself in his throat a little bit but he managed to continue, "Love you, need you, yeah, I wanna kiss you all over, and over again, I wanna kiss you all over, till the night closes in, till the night closes in-"

He never got to finish his song because Emma kissed him right there and then.

EWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEW

George moaned pitifully in his hands.

"Don't worry," Emma reassured him cheerfully, "I found it very sexy."

"Which bit?" George demanded despairingly. "The staggering? The falling over and making a prat out of myself? Or was it the terribly out of tune singing?"

"All right, I found the lyrics very sexy," Emma grinned cheekily, "but you were cute too."

"Thanks," George muttered.

He was busy trying to figure out how to salvage his friendship with Emma after the whole debacle. Actually he was trying to figure out how to face any of his friends (even if some of them _aren't_ really his friends) ever again. He can't believe how terrible he behaved, he cannot believe he sang, and he still can't believe _what _he had sang either.

"It's a shame," Emma finished the dregs of her cereal, "we never got that far in the end."

"_We didn't?!"_

"No, we got naked, kissed lots, and groped each other a bit," George flushed at that and his blush deepened when Emma winked at him. "But then you sort of passed out."

George groaned at that, not out of disappointment, but out of embarrassment, not only had he made a spectacle of himself in public but he had humiliated himself privately in front of Emma. There was no end to this at all, was there?

Emma stood up again and hugged him properly. _This was it_, he thought dejectedly, _she's going to suggest that we should just be friends_. "Since its Saturday," Emma said softly, "and we have no work, no family duties, so…"

"So?" George swallowed.

"I wanna kiss you all over, and over again," Emma sang softly as she moved her lips closer to his, "I wanna kiss you all over, till the night closes in, till the night closes in."

And you know what? That's exactly what they did for the entirety of the day.


End file.
